The Adventures of Bianca Di Angelo and Zoe
by Andromeda-Dreamer
Summary: Bianca is dead, alive, and kickass [though not all at the same time]. So is Zoe Nightshade.
1. Prologue

**Spoilers for 'Percy Jackson and the Titan's Curse' all throughout.**

So I just read the Titan's Curse, and the treatment of Bianca Di Angelo pissed me off (brother & sister are both equally potentially important; sister dies. In the same book as Thalia loses her importance and Annabeth (and Artemis, dammit!) becomes a damsel in distress, not good). So I did what I always do; I wrote fic.

This one is about Bianca, being dead, being alive, and being kickass, with the aid of Zoe Nightshade and the goddess Persephone (who is now Queen of the Dead, and kicks some serious butt).

Disclaimer: The concept is totally Rick Riordan's, and he does awesome things with it. (Though I wish he would remember the gay, occasionally, and give the girls some more guts)

Warnings: Death, language, WIP, SPOILERS

If you're still here? On with the fic! (I like it lots)

* * *

The Adventures of Bianca Di Angelo, Champion of Justice (with the aid of Zoe Nightshade, formerly dead)

_Prologue:_

Bianca Di Angelo is standing in the Fields of Asphodel, in a long long line, before the three judges. She is shivering, though she is trying to hide it; she was, for a brief time at least, a Hunter and a Hero and there are certain things that go with that. She misses her brother desperately, and hopes he is all right; hopes Perseus Jackson kept his promise. Hopes Nico understood what she meant, giving him the last god.

All around Bianca shades of the dead are moaning; she keeps her hands firmly at her side. She will not disgrace herself, not here, though even the grass is screaming. She stands in the line, and she waits.

Time passes, minutes and seconds and hours reduced to the same consistency, trickling by. Despite this, no one talks—it is not the sort of land where one can talk to the person in front of them, and they cannot hear the judges. Bianca looks around, though, and is half-disturbed by the number of children around her, and the methods of their death.

A boy, three people behind her, with his head exploded; a girl further down the line, the same age as Nico with blood running down her thighs and her head lolling backwards. She very much wants to throw up.

She is reduced to watching the people trickle in over the river, and wondering who they might have been as she waits. A man with startlingly blue eyes and bullet-spatters on his chest thanks the ferryman (she thinks she saw him on TV, once, when they were travelling—he looked like a nice guy, from the two or three seconds she caught before they were moving again); a tall woman with banana-bright hair, even in here, is crying softly as she walks. A girl steps down off the ferry, dark hair braided into a silver coronet and blood on her chest, there is something of a goddess in her bearing and something familiar.

Bianca says, incredulously, "_Zoe?!"_

Her voice echoes in here; she thinks it may be something to with being the daughter of its master, though he seems not to care. The people—the dead people, and at some point she's going to freak out about that, but not right now—are staring at her, because she has spoken and disturbed the almost hallowed silence; she shrugs. What can you do?

The girl she is sure is Zoe looks at her, and their eyes meet. Zoe mouths a word; Bianca thinks it's her name. She says, "Come here," half an order, and the dead part like the Red Sea.

Zoe flashes her a smile, the most beautiful thing she's seen since—and walks through them, stands next to her.

"You're...dead." Bianca says, and her voice is annoyed but _honestly. _She died for these people, and they didn't have the good sense not to?

Zoe quirks an eyebrow. "I am a constellation now too, thanks to Lady Artemis."

Bianca grins, ignoring the silence in the joy of finding a friend again (even under these circumstances, because Zoe is pretty damn cool). "Seriously? That is _so _cool." She knows she sounds like Nico, but she's _dead_. She deserves a break. "So, tell me what happened!"

* * *

By the time they have reached the judges, Bianca knows all that has happened since she... died; she has hugged Zoe many times and been hugged back, and they have resolved to go with each other, to wherever the judges send them; neither wants to go alone. 

They step up together.


	2. Chapter One

Hi, readers! Thanks for the reviews!

This chapter, stuff happens. Also there is PoV shift--it's now first-person present-tense. Tell me if it is teh suck, please?

* * *

_Chapter One:_

We're right in front of the judges, and they're shuffling papers, when there is a flash of light, gold and warm, and we're...not there anymore. Zoe and I look at each other, and scramble for assorted weapons on our bodies.

Zoe comes up with a knife, I find... nothing. Damn. I look around quickly—huh. The place we're in has flowers—almost like a garden, I think. Zoe says, "Queen Persephone," softly. We bow.

The woman in front of us is beautiful, wearing a long green dress with flowers on it, and a shawl around her shoulders. _My father's wife, _I think, and wonder if she has brought me here to consign me to eternal torture—it wouldn't be the first time the gods did something cruel and unnecessary.

Persephone smiles, summer in the black land of death, and reassuring. "Hello," she says. I smile at her. Zoe does too; Persephone is, like, amazingly attractive. In a platonic kind of way. She makes you feel good, even when you... can't feel anything.

I say, "Um..." And mutter something about 'shouldn't we see the judges?'

She reaches out a slim-fingered hand, calmly. "Don't worry about them." And... I don't. She's very soothing. "Bianca Di Angelo; Zoe Nightshade. You are heroes, I believe--"

Zoe bites her lip; she doesn't like that word, but she won't contradict Hades' Queen.

I nod. "Yes, Lady. Inasmuch as we are capable."

She smiles again, says, "That is good. We have too few heroines. Bianca, daughter of Hades--"

I swallow nervously, and Zoe looks at me. I hope my eyes convey, _later_.

Persephone continues, "Do not be afraid of me; I am not a vengeful goddess, save when I have been wronged and I have not." Her voice is like... birdsong. "But you have, girl-heroes, you have been wronged."

Zoe looks as if she is about to protest (I'm pretty close to that too; we chose this, no matter how much I wish I could see Nico's eleventh birthday).

Persephone raises a hand. "I do not have time to explain this—Hades will come soon, and I would rather he not see you here and stop me. But there are certain prophecies, daughter of Atlas, daughter of Hades, that concern you, and you must see them out. I give you your lives. Zoe Nightshade—protect her. And do not seek out your goddess until I give you the word."

Something in the air tastes like springtime, and the next thing I know, I'm flat on my back in a grove of trees. I sit up, and spit out a pine-needle. Next to me, Zoe is staring blankly into space.

"What," I say, incredulously, "just happened?"

Zoe scrubs her hands over her face, a nervous gesture I've never seen her use; she's too in-control for that. Then she looks down at her hands. "I think—I think we're alive."

I blink. "We owe Persephone, big-time."

She sighs. "It's never good, owing a god." Then she gets to her feet, offers me a hand. "I wonder where we are."

I take it, pull myself up gracelessly; apparently the Huntress-thing died with me the first time. Zoe's looking a little less perfect, come to think of it, but at least we have... hey, new clothes!

Zoe says, looking down at herself, "What am I wearing?"

I am hard-pressed to answer. I don't particularly want to say, "Clothes that make you look like a prostitute." Less for her sake than for mine; I've seen Zoe snap and it's not pleasant.

She does, though—the top is, like, a bra, and the skirt? Is maybe the width of a thicker belt. She still looks incredible, though. Which is completely unfair, considering that I am fairly lumpy in my prostitute-get-up. I sigh; military school gives you muscles in all the wrong places.

"Um. I assume these clothes are popular, nowadays." Wincing at my stilted speech, I fiddle with the strap of my...top distastefully.

She snorts. "Well, we had better find better ones." Then she picks a direction and starts walking, makes a disgusted noise. "How are we supposed to get anywhere in these 'shoes'?"

Zoe's wearing, like, three-inch heels. I'm lucky; whoever got us these clothes gave me flats. I sort of wish I had a hat. I miss my floppy green one. Maybe I'll start combing my hair down, over my eyes. Same defense mechanism, you know?

Zoe takes off her shoes, and swears. "I don't have matches," she says, sounding shocked. I get what she means; I wasn't a Hunter very long, but one thing you get used to is having a bag stocked for pretty much any eventuality.

...We don't have any bags.

I say, "Wow. Persephone has great planning skills, huh?"

Zoe says, "She's still a goddess; watch what you say."

I nod, and I have a thought. "Nico. Zoe, we can find Nico! He must be worried sick..."

Zoe says, "He's at Camp." Starts walking, barefoot, torture devices dangling from her fingers. I wince; the ground can't be soft, and I thank the gods I've got flats.

"So?" I ask, jogging to catch up with her. "We can get in... can we?"

She looks at me, face grim. "We are no longer Hunters, Bianca. Gods know if we have power left; I can't tell."

I say, "Where's Persephone when you need her?"

Zoe sighs. "We had better find a place to get food soon. At least the blood on me is gone."

I nod, and see something in the trees. "Look, Zoe!"

She grins at me. "Well, it seems Persephone has not forsaken us," she says, and and picks up the lime-green backpack. Opens it. "Shoes!" She's smiling really wide, and I grin back at her. Sneakers; awesome.

...One pair. "You take them," I say, "I've got flats. They're easier to walk in than bare feet."

"Thanks," Zoe says, and puts the green (of _course, _the goddess of springtime _would _mark her wards' clothing with green) Chucks on. "That's better."

She's not wincing when she walks, anymore, and the backpack is bouncing on her shoulder.

After a while I say, "We should change our names."

Zoe stops and looks at me. "What?"

"Hear me out, okay? Listen, I went to military school. Granted, not very long, but I was there for some of the key lessons, and one of them is—_when you're in enemy territory, stay incognito. _And I don't really understand what Persephone said, about us not dying, or a prophecy, or whatever, but people will remember us. You, at least. They think we're dead right now but that could change, and we're not Hunters anymore, and only the gods know if we have any power anymore.

And I sincerely doubt that Persephone will give us another out if we get killed."

Zoe thinks about it for a moment, and then smiles proudly. "You are right, Bianca. ...Not Bianca. What name would you choose?"

I swallow. I hadn't got _that _far yet, in my nebulous plan. "Um," I say. "Something plain. Sarah, maybe, or Kate. We haven't hit civilization yet; we've got time."

Zoe says, "I think I will call myself..." She stops. "I do not know. It's harder than it seems, picking a name."

"Yeah," I say. We start walking again, in silent agreement, the birds around us chirping.

Finally we get out of the woods and to the edge of a road; it's paved, which is good but I can't see any signs. There are no cars coming, either—but I'm pretty sure they'd pick us up if they were. Maybe Persephone had a point.

Zoe says, "We should take a break—there's food in the bag, and I can't remember the last time I wasn't in a hurry to be somewhere."

I nod, and sit down on the bank. Zoe drops the bag in my lap and folds down gracefully. I'm a little jealous, but she's spent hundreds of years making the Hunter's grace second-nature, and I think I'd get bored. You know? I'd hate to be twelve forever.

I pull open the green flap, pawing through—ooh, sweaters; they'll come in useful when it gets cold; _money_, thank the gods. I was wondering if we'd need it. A thermos of coffee, and a hamper. It must be one of those magic bags that can hold, like, a billion pounds and feel light.

I toss Zoe the coffee, and miss; she plucks it out of the air and grins.

I stick my tongue out and open the hamper. Yum. _Food_. _Good _food. "Zoe," I ask, looking through the hamper, "ham or cheese?"

She stares at me, pouring coffee. It steams faintly; smells _really _good. Then she thinks for a moment, and says, "Cheese."

I hand her the sandwich, having shown off my throwing skills (or lack thereof) once today, and not having a particular urge to humiliate myself. She grins, unwraps the white paper on white bread and takes a bite.

I peel my own sandwich from its wrapping, and take a bite. I think my pupils dilate. It's _good._

Zoe chews and swallows. "We definitely owe Persephone," she says.

I nod. For the next few moments there are no sounds but chewing and swallowing and the occasional appreciative murmur. Finally we're both done; I lick my fingers and savour the warmth in my stomach.

Zoe quirks an eyebrow at me. "There are no cars here." She says, somewhat obviously.

I say, "I hope we don't have to walk further."

Right on cue, there's a car cresting the ridge at the end of the road we can see, a paint-silver Impala roaring down the pavement, trailing exhaust fumes. Zoe wrinkles her nose. "Pan would make that car scrap metal," she says.

I resolutely do _not _roll my eyes. "Well, right now it's our only way to civilization, and possibly camp, so I suggest you don't tell the driver."

She says, "Do you think I am stupid?"

I say, "Absolutely not." And stand quickly as the Impala comes closer, wave a napkin in the direction of the driver's seat.

The car skids to a halt, perfect-90-degree turn. The door opens, and a man gets out. I draw in a sharp breath, and beside me Zoe is tense like a taut wire.

"Hello, Bianca."

* * *

Okay, thanks for reading this far! Um. Need reader-participation, please? Any names that you think would work for the girls, leave 'em in a review or PM them to me; and whether or not apocalyptic future-fic would be a step too far. Thanks! 

AndromedaDreamer


	3. Chapter Two

Next chapter! In which there is, um. Restructuring of my brain, and of California (which I know nothing about, so y'know. Feel free to poke).

Disclaimer: Again, Rick Riordan. Also public domain. ...yeah._  
_

* * *

_Chapter Two:_

"Hello, Bianca."

I step back, think quickly. "My name's not Bianca," I say. "It's Katie. Katie...Clark."

The midnight-haired man standing in front of me rolls his black eyes. "_Please._ What do I look like, stupid?" He sticks his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, leans back against his car.

I blink. Zoe steps a little in front of me, protective instincts running full-strength.

"Zoe Nightshade," he says, coolly. He bows, stiffly, but there is reluctance in it. I wrinkle my nose; there is something oddly familiar about him, something I can't _quite _place--

Zoe's face is ivory. She says nothing.

I bite my lip. "Who are you?"

He laughs, hollow and empty. "You don't recognize me, of course. Bianca, it's me." He fumbles in his pocket. Zoe tenses. "Don't worry," he says, "I'm not going to hurt her, just--" Finally he produces a little figurine, dwarfed in his palm.

I say, "Oh, gods," eyes tracing Hades in this man's hand.

Nico says, "You've been gone fourteen years, Bianca."

All I can think is, _really long line._

* * *

The wind is ripping past the car—Nico, or this version of my little brother, my sweet baby brother, seems to like the speed. I curl up against the leather of the back-seat, knees tucked up under my chin, Hades-figure tight in my palm. I don't feel like talking. 

Neither, apparently, does Zoe Nightshade. She's sitting in the front, next to Nico, with her window rolled down as far as it'll go. Her hair is streaming past her.

Nico's driving. He won't tell us where, or why, but he's my brother, and if I can't trust him why am I _here_? Zoe's probably pissed at me, though, for just following him when he told me. But she didn't tie me up, so...

Nico says, "I didn't believe Persephone, when she told me that you were alive." He's drumming his wrists on the wheel, a nervous habit if ever I've seen one.

Zoe looks at him.

He shrugs. "Fourteen years. I'd given up hope, y'know? But she offered me a chance to be Orpheus, and I took it."

I say, "Orpheus?"

Nico sighs, and trains his eyes on the road. "She said that if I didn't look back--"

My brain clicks. "You're driving us out, and you can't look back for me."

He says, "Yes."

"But you saw me, in the forest." I hope it isn't true, because, well. It's _Nico. _And if my fate rests on Nico not looking back, we may have a problem.

"I was allowed to see you first. Persephone's a kind goddess, as far as they go, and I think she likes me." He's worried, I know. There's still Nico-ness about him, even as time's worn him down, written sadness into him that shouldn't be there.

"Oh, Nico," I say, softly, "what happened to you?"

He doesn't look at me. "Life. War. You name it." He's broken, this man who is my little brother but not, and what gods would be this cruel?

Zoe says, "Percy Jackson?"

Nico's face twitches. "You don't want to mention that name, where we're going."

Zoe's curious, but she drops it. "How much farther?"

"A little while."

I say, "I'm not going anywhere. Just to sleep." I'm more tired than you'd think I'd be.

Nico says, "All right."

Zoe says, "There might be a blanket in the bag."

* * *

Someone's shaking my shoulder. I murmur, "Be up in a second--" and open my eyes blearily. Zoe's face is the first thing I see. 

"Mm?" I ask. Then I remember. "Nico," I say, slowly, afraid of the response I may get.

Zoe says, "We made it," and she's grinning really wide.

I rub my eyes. "Nico?"

"Hey, Bianca," Nico's voice, soft and hesitant.

I sit up, pine-green blanket falling around me. Zoe's sitting next to me, and Nico's craned his head around from the front seat. I flick my eyes over to the dashboard, putting away the Nico-thoughts that will overwhelm me, soon. I suck in a breath—we're parked at the top of a cliff/hill kind of thing, with a half-ruined city spread out below us.

Nico says, "L.A."

I say, "Wow. Less smog than I remember."

There's a grimace on Nico's handsome face (boy did my brother grow up nice) as he says, "Trust me, the smog was better."

I wince—I don't think that I want to know what happened, if it put that desperate emptiness in my brother's eyes. Zoe probably does, but I think she'll wait until we meet someone who isn't as visibly _broken _as my brother.

Zoe says, "So, can we drive down or are we walking?" Her voice is gentler than normal, though.

"We're on foot," Nico says, slowly. "Cars haven't worked in LA since..." He trails off, obviously discomfited.

I don't know what to say, unwrap the blanket from me, fold it gently.

Zoe blinks. "Bianca, you awake enough to walk?"

I nod. "You want the bag?"

* * *

The hills here are steep and rocky; Zoe's slipped once. Which, quite frankly, scares me, because if Zoe slips then the rest of us mere mortals (or mere half-bloods, as the case may be) are screwed. Yeah, okay. I've fallen fifteen times so far, in fifteen minutes. Shut up. 

Nico, however, is perfectly poised, like he does this every day. ...From what I've seen of this time? He probably does. I sigh, adjust the shoulder-strap—Zoe took one look at the slopes and told me that it might cushion my fall, if I fell. Which it has, but that really doesn't help my self-esteem.

I pause to dig a pebble out of my shoe; both Zoe and Nico stop nervously, half-vibrating. I wonder why I'm not worried; chalk it up to the fact that I have two obviously capable warriors protecting me for all they're worth. I toss the rock in my hand—it's weird how something so small can cause so much discomfort—and continue slipping and sliding my way down the hill.

I fall on my ass, again.

Nico stops. "This is stupid," he says, gently, and walks towards me and picks me up. I squeak.

Zoe blinks; doesn't say anything. I think she and this new Nico must have had a discussion while I was sleeping, and she's picking her battles.

...He doesn't smell like Nico, I think—he smells like cardamon and incense, not soap and dirt—and a tear slips down the side of my face. I try and stop them coming; bite my lip, think happy thoughts—the whole deal, but it doesn't work and I'm full-out sobbing into not-Nico's shirt.

I know Nico and Zoe probably have no idea what's going on with crazy me, but at this point I can't bring myself to care because for all intents and purposes my brother is dead—except worse, because if he was dead then I'd have a chance of seeing him in Hades, but he's just _gone _and I _miss _him.

Nico says, "It's okay, shh," and kisses my forehead. It makes me cry worse; that's something I used to do, when it was just the two of us in that freaky-ass hotel.

Zoe says, "You were a Hunter, remember? You _are _a Hunter. You are strong--" and her voice is clear and calm and it brings me back to myself. I rub my eyes. "Thanks," I say. "I'm okay now; I won't break down again, I don't think. We can move on now."

Nico nods; doesn't press this, adjusts me slightly in his arms and then _glides _down the hill. Cool.

I look over his leather-clad shoulder; Zoe's following us, slightly less graceful, beautiful all the same in this desolation. It's so _grey_, I think—there's hardly any colour, except for my green backpack and our bright prostitute-clothes.

_Gods, LA is a pit, _I think.

Nico's mouth quirks up, and I realize I've said it aloud. I say, "Uh—Sorry."

"Nah," he says, lightly, "LA is widely lauded as a crappy place to live. That's what makes it a great place for people like me to live."

"What, half-breeds?" I ask, genuinely interested—he doesn't seem too panicky yet, so maybe I can learn something.

"No," he says, sadly. "Refugees and terrorists."

Zoe blinks. "_What?_"


End file.
